So The Rock and Pebbles went to a local gun show recently.
First, let me say that I absolutely LOVE that The Rock and Pebbles enjoy doing things together.
He’s such an amazing daddy and I feel so blessed to have him to share this grandchild-raising experience with. I’m not sure where Pebbles and I would be in our Grandmother-as-Mommy journey if there were no Grandfather-as-Daddy in the picture. He truly is my rock. Which is why I call him The Rock.
But you already know that if you’ve read my About My Blog page.
What? You haven’t yet read about my blog? Well, get on over there and take care of that right now. I’ll just sit here and wait for you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.
Now that that’s taken care of, let me be perfectly truthful and say that, secondly, I’m especially grateful that The Rock and Pebbles enjoy doing things together because it’s the only time I get the whole freakin’ house to myself!!
YES!! Peace and quiet! No talking! No questions! No interruptions! I can do whatever I want!
At this point I imagine myself channeling Mel Gibson as William Wallace in the movie Braveheart. Yes, I’m female, he’s male, but it’s only an imaginary role so don’t worry about it.
I’ve tried to explain this freedom concept to The Rock gazillions of times and each time I’ve watched his eyes glaze over as he grows weary trying to understand a notion that is completely foreign to him. Because he’s never, ever felt the need to have the house, or the garage, or the barn, to himself.
Tonight I tried a new tactic. I told him that I’d done some calculations and the results were pretty stunning.
As a stay-at-home mom to our four kids and Pebbles, what with age differences, some homeschooling, adult kids living at home and/or/not working/going to college, from the day our first child, Zani, was born until today, I have had maybe 1,000 kid-free days.
Just take a minute to let that sink in.
One. Thousand. Days. In almost 40 years. Less than three kid-free, uninterrupted years to myself.
Now, I know that SAHMs reading this have no doubt whatsoever that my calculations are pretty darn on-target.
But my dear Rocky – as much as I love him, as much as he loves me and as wonderful a daddy as he is – still couldn’t wrap his mind around this concept. He still doesn’t get why I just need some peace. And quiet. Preferably both at the same time.
But, as often happens, I digress.
The Rock and Pebbles went to a local gun show recently. Without me! YAY!
They came home with a new toy gun for Pebbles.
Yes. We’re those parents. We let our kids play with toy guns. And all sorts of toy weapons. Knives. Hatchets. Machetes. Axes. Crossbows. Hand grenades. We also allowed the older ones to play violent video games.
And guess what? Not one single kid grew up to be violent. Not one took up a life of crime. Not a serial killer among them.
Except, how would you actually know until they’re apprehended? Because no one ever suspects, even when they live in the same house, that someone they know is a serial killer.
But, again, I digress.
Pebbles came home from the gun show with an awesome new toy gun. She also had lots to tell me about all the cool stuff she saw there. My favorite was a pair of mood changing brass knuckles.
For real. Mood changing brass knuckles. Kinda like a mood ring for people who like to be prepared just in case they have to beat the crap out of someone.
The Rock thought it was a silly idea. “After all,” he reasoned, “if you’re wearing brass knuckles, you already know what kind of mood you’re in.”
He’s also incredibly sensible. Another reason why I adore him so much.